


The Book of Eleanor Abbe

by ajisai in november (SweetTeaAndMonograms)



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Bisexual Merlin (Merlin), Bisexual Percival, Eleanor is so done with everything, Elyan Lives (Merlin), F/F, F/M, Gen, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Gwaine Lives (Merlin), Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, Lesbian Morgana (Merlin), Medieval Medicine, Protective Gaius (Merlin), Slow Burn, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), Ygraine is Resurected, for all his swag Gwaine is a PROFOUND cockblock, good Morgause
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTeaAndMonograms/pseuds/ajisai%20in%20november
Summary: Eleanor is a scholar, transported to a fantastical world by a mysterious ancient symbol.Will she find answers in Albion? or will she be stuck there, forever?
Relationships: Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin)/Original Female Character(s), Mithian/Morgana (Merlin), Mordred (Merlin)/Original Female Character(s), Mordred/Original Female Character/Lancelot, Uther/unhappiness
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	The Book of Eleanor Abbe

Eleanor was keenly aware that she was teetering on the edge of what could possibly be the breakthrough of a lifetime. What she wasn’t aware of, was that her teacup was teetering off the edge of her bookstack.

“I’ve seen this character before, I know I have. Hell, I’d bet all my money I’ve seen every extant text and inscription of this language! Why can’t I just fucking remember what this is!” She gesticulated wildly, punctuating her outburst with a yell, clearly communicating her frustration to any snooping deity in the sky. For her shout, she received steely glares from her roommate and she shrunk down, flushed with embarrassment. 

This one godforsaken symbol was the singular obstacle between her and the completion of her life’s work - the complete translation of Pascal University Manuscript 1207-B, better known as Hildrada’s Codex. Dating from over one and a half thousand years ago, it was one of the oldest and most complete documentation of an obscure, formerly untranslatable Indo-European language. Eleanor had dedicated most of her post-secondary education to this language, to helping lift the veil separating the past and the present. She had seen this vexing little character a handful of times before, and every time, it made her want to bash her head in. The symbol, vaguely eye shaped and surrounded by circles and reverse check marks, seemed to be a sort of seal. If she could just figure out where she’d seen it before, she could -

The clinging crack of ceramic on hardwood brought her out of herself. 

“Damn, that was my favorite mug.”

She scribbled the symbol into her notes. She’d ask her advisor in the morning, right now she had pottery shards to deal with.

\------------------------------------------------------------

By five in the afternoon, Eleanor had had a very unsuccessful meeting with her department head, been lectured by men who had no authority lecturing her, and drank a staggering amount of coffee in a desperate attempt to feel anything but burnout. 

Overall, a very average Wednesday.

Six o'clock saw her return to her apartment and make mediocre chicken fettuccine for dinner. Despite having resolved to not work after dinner for the new year, she spread out her notes and stared at that dastardly little symbol that haunted all her work. Her advisor, Dr. Monmouth, hadn’t been in his office that morning or afternoon to discuss her concerns. This was quite odd; Dr Monmouth practically lived in his office and could be found there at nearly every hour of the day. It was honestly quite suspicious.  
"Maybe I'm looking at it all wrong. Maybe a change of angle will trigger my memory." Eleanor craned her head to the left, before remembering that paper can move, and turned the paper instead. 

The page had been moved maybe forty-five degrees when Eleanor began to feel a funny sort of tingle in her hands, and her fingertips glowed a cool white under the skin. The character glowed too, starting from its center spiraling outward from its pupil as she turned the page further. Ever the academic, she made mental notes on this mystifying situation. “Okay, so there is definitely something special about this symbol. I knew it! Now, what the hell is going on?!”

Eleanor yanked her hands back after the page erupted in blue-green flames, fingers still glowing and beginning to become transparent. It was as if she was being stretched thin, like the knit fabric of a too-small tube top. The room was spinning, the floor dropping out from under her. It was a scene straight out of a fantasy novel; blue and green and purple flames swirled around her glowing body. 

The last thing she saw was an explosion of white light, and she popped from this plane of existence. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

Eleanor tumbled as she collided with the forest floor. She landed on her back, in a small nook between knotted tree roots. The world spun as she tried to get her bearings. By the way she was already aching, she just knew she’d be every shade of black and blue by tomorrow.“ So I’m clearly in the woods somewhere... and that symbol was clearly some sort of magic, and…” she looked down at her torso, “these are not my clothes.” She was wearing a 14th century style kirtle of pale reddish pink linen, laced up the front with long, tight sleeves, and her feet were bare. 

Her vision gradually steadied, and she stood to take in her environment. It was a densely forested area, though she could see that the trees thinned out by the horizon. The sun was low in the sky, clearly getting ready to let the moon take its place. She set off, rather unhappy she didn’t have shoes as twigs and other underbrush scratched up her feet. Plants always made her feet itch.

After a fair few minutes of walking, she peered from behind a tree. Ahead, beyond the thinned line of trees, was a clearing, which had a small camp set up in it. A young man, no older than about seventeen, sat tending a fire, while an older man, late in his twenties, stood watch, not quite facing her. The youth had curly, dark hair that contrasted his fair skin. The elder of the two had a rugged look about him, like the brooding heroes from mass market bodice rippers. They both had cloaks of scarlet, embroidered with a golden dragon.

The older man turned her way. Eleanor ducked back behind the tree as silently as she could. She had a choice to make. She could reveal herself to these men, of whom she knew absolutely nothing, or she could wander the woods. It was nearing full night, and the air had picked up a chill. As much as she was scared of the unknown men, she was (rather practically) more scared of being lost in the forest. 

She stepped on a twig as she moved out from behind the tree to catch Bodice Ripper’s attention. Both he and the youth turned his gaze to her, Bodice Ripper reaching for the sword at his hip, hand grasping the grip lightly. Eleanor raised her arms as a gesture of good will.

“Who are you? What is your business?” he said, in a voice far more gentle than the one she was expecting, and tinged with a brogue. 

“I have no business, I’m lost. My name is Eleanor.” Her voice quavered, becoming quieter as she finished her name. Her hands shook, clutching her skirt. Thinking about showing herself was a lot easier than actually doing it.

Bodice Ripper walked up to meet her, softly taking her by the hand and leading her to the fire. She sat by the fire, and it warmed her greatly. The young man set his cloak around her; it was much heavier that it appeared, and its added warmth was very welcome. Neither questioned her, though she could see that they wished to do so. 

The younger man introduced himself. “I am Sir Mordred, and this Sir Balin, Knight of Camelot.” Mordred’s voice was firm but controlled, like he didn’t want to spook her. Eleanor gave a weak smile. Knights had their chivalric code of honor, and knowing their identities helped reassure her just a bit. “If I may ask, how did you come to be stranded in the forest?”

She had another choice to make. She could lie, or she could tell the truth. If she told the truth, she may be called a liar or a madwoman. She could tell a lie, but if she were to be found out, it could put her in even more danger. Both outcomes were not ideal, but she decided to come out with the truth.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Sir Balin, was clearly suspicious of this answer. 

“I just... woke up there.” Not the total truth, but she was already pushing it with Balin, and Eleanor was apprehensive of what his reaction would be to her reality. Sir Balin was clearly skeptical, but remained silent. She could tell Mordred believed her; he had a look of acceptance in his eye. All three sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, the knights trying to avoid looking at Eleanor, and her trying to avoid looking at them. Pulling Mordred’s cloak tighter, she shivered, both from the chill and their intense stares. They clearly weren’t a talkative pair.

Balin spoke first. “We’ll be riding into the nearest village tomorrow morn. Get some rest, the both of ‘ye.” She hadn't noticed the horses before, but she saw them now; one was seal brown, the other blue dun. He stood, clearly intending to keep watch as well as brood about his new travelling companion.

Eleanor moved to stand, but Mordred stopped her with a hand on the shoulder, carefully avoiding touching her bare skin. 

“Take the bedroll." 

She'd heard him speak, yet his mouth didn't move. How the fuck did he do that?

Mordred smiled, mischievously chuckling. He must have heard her think that. “How did you do that?” She noticed a hysterical tinge to her voice, though it was still a whisper. She knew exactly how - magic. Hell, she shouldn’t even be surprised by telepathy at this point, given that she’d literally gone through a goddamn portal not three hours before. But she didn’t want to believe it. Quite the paradox - her acceptance that magic was the reason for her situation yet her profuse denial of magic’s existence.

“I think you know, miss”

Eleanor moved to unfurl the bedroll, and laid down on it. For being just a few layers of fabric against the forest floor, it was a welcome change from sitting on the bare ground. Pulling a blanket snug around her body, she slept fitfully, hoping that this was just an awful dream.


End file.
